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Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Don't sacrifice skinny jeans for moskonfyt.

I am notoriously good at avoiding exercise, which is why I am now struggling
to fit into my beautiful indigo blue, super soft and stretchy, skinny jeans
from Woolies. These are my Holy Grail jeans. They are my fail safe. In times of
panic of not knowing what the hell to wear I slip these on and all my fashion
related worries disappear.

One such panic took place about a week ago.

The BF who is a photographer, wanted to go see (spend hours drooling over)
the Wildlife Photography Exhibition at the Iziko Museum. I have seen this
exhibition before and was astounded by it; particularly by the size of bugs’
eyes which I find amazing and totally gross at the same time.

Now the plan was to visit Long Street afterwards. However I hadn’t seen the
light of day or the populated city for a matter of weeks, being hunched over
one’s laptop scheming ways to force people to read copy and dreaming about
business ventures that won’t exist without the monetary help of my father.

So naturally I spent a week in my pyjamas with scary Mel B hair and a case
of pimple-itis.

Not so hot.

Now we all know that Long Street is where they breed hipsters. Even if I wore my most quirky and stylish
outfit I would still not measure up to the Hipsters that walk those streets,
organic coffee in hand, clothed in vintage and high street gems.

Panic overcame me as I stood nekkid in front of my tres cool rail of
clothing. Nothing would fit. Shock Horror. How could this be? I reached for my
darling, never let me down, indigo skinnies.

It was painful, like squeezing a fat kid into a Herve Leger dress. The
button had to be coaxed into its buttonhole.

In the few weeks that I spent at home mulling of work, I had managed to pack
on enough kilos to make the seams of my jeans stretch dangerously. My thighs
were monstrous.

Anyway I managed to find an outfit to wear but still felt like some poppie
from Bellville walking Long Street, lost and bewildered by all these ultra-cool
fashionistas.

On return home, I went straight to Google where I typed in “beginner’s
exercises” “beginner’s fitness” and up came this image and a bunch of others
that were for people with muscle tone and space between their thighs.

So the next morning, I put on my gym clothes which are in a sad state. (Pink
tennis shoes just don’t cut it.)Inserted my Ipod into my ears, put my Paramore album on, and followed
the instructions. I did more than what they required, in fact I did a few days’
worth ofexercise.

Bad move. I woke up the next morning and my thighs felt like lead, getting
out of bed was particularly hilarious. I rolled myself into the sitting
position and then the BF yanked me upright.

The message here is to keep fit, even if it’s just to fit into your
favourite pair of jeans. Try not to sit around eating moskonfyt all day, like
me.

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Disclaimer

All words are my own unless otherwise stated. If you would like to publish any of my columns, please contact me at jodileza@gmail.com

If you attempt to use my writing, in any way or form, without my permission, I will hunt you down and make sure you regret you ever crossed me. I am that seriaas. You should know that I am half Italian and my great grandfather was a Mafiosa, therefore, you will sleep with the fishes. Comprendo?

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